


Lex Talionis

by Lucreace



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: AU, F/M, Warhammer 40k - Freeform, Wild West
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucreace/pseuds/Lucreace
Summary: Life on the plains had never been easy for the people of Cthonia, but they had managed to eek out an existence for countless years. When Outsiders came, everything changed. No longer willing to sell their way of life, Ezekyle Abaddon and his band of miscreants lead a war against the Outsiders which will take them on a far darker path than any of them could anticipate.(Or - it's wild west AU)





	1. Chapter 1

 

For countless centuries, my people have occupied the land of Cthonia. We hunted what we needed, gave back what we could and survived. It was a peaceful way of living. We had our traditions and our ways, we had our rivalries and disputes but nothing that could not be solved among ourselves. Time passed by without change and without thought. We lived our lives as we always had done, until one day, everything changed. Outsiders came to our shores. At first, we were greeted with amicable smiles and open palms. At first, we were content to let them remain. For the last hundred years, we have allowed these outsiders to make their homes on our shores. The lands to the east were given over to them. We soon learned the error of our hospitality. Whatever they had, they wanted more. Always a little more. They spread over the mountains and onto the planes, claiming what was ours for themselves. Superior weaponry made it easy for them until we were pushed from traditional hunting grounds into smaller and smaller groups. Some of us decided that enough was enough. We broke from our homes, broke our traditions and took up the mantle of war. We would not take this invasion without a fight!

 

***

Hot, dry wind rattled through the Badlands like a bad cough. The heat brought with it the smell of fire and death. Shale rattled around the lower stacks creating a hissing that echoed and rocked through the deserted place. Deserted but for six riders. Mottled cloth covered the lower half of their faces, stopped stinging dirt from damaging weathered skin; dark hats fell over heavy brows, protecting sensitive eyes from the glare of the sun. Hooves stamped the arid ground, sending up plumes of dust as the riders watched and waited. They had been there for two days, making sure everything was as it should be. It had to be perfect.

Although they knew a pan could change, it was a good idea to make sure there would be no unexpected surprises. Last thing any of them needed was a stray wild-dog ruining this! Resisting the urge to send one of them to check again, the leader of this small bunch scanned the horizon. Below them was the only pass through the mountains for hundreds of miles. Snake Pass was far too heavily defended for them to pull off this ambush but here, here was far easier. It was infrequently used, prone to crumbling rock and dangerous. The people that tended to use it wanted to avoid the heavily guarded areas as much as they did. One of the horses shuffled, causing its bridal to clatter; mall rocks screed down the slope, chattering as they fell.

 “Keep that horse still!” their leader snapped.

“There’s no one here,” the other protested.

Refusing to bicker, he simply grunted and turned his attention back to the dirt track that passed for a road. There was nothing on it, yet. The blazing sun began to make its way to the horizon; there was no relief from the blistering temperature. The heat haze had the distance shimmer, sweat tickled down the backs of those who waited, despite the shade covering them from the intense blast. The odd cricket chittered as the sun inexorably moved on. Just before sunset, what they were waiting for appeared. Horses were dismounted and led off before they could be discovered. Key positions were made and the six laid in wait.

Rumbling over the trail came a slow, lumbering wagon. Drawn along by two oxen the wheels rattled over the stony ground. The dirty tarp fluttered as the wind picked and pulled at it. Escorting the wagon were three riders, one on each side and one at the back. There was another driving and no doubt there was at least one inside as well. All of them were armed, though they did not look too alert. It was best not to underestimate them however, that was the road to a slow death in the dirt.

Slowly, guns were drawn. Nods were exchanged and hats were pulled a little lower. Horses shuffled a fraction. The time would soon come. Inch by inch, the wagon made its way down the trail, unaware of what lay in store for it. The riders turned and spoke to one another, leisurely conversing about who knew what. Up on the slope, hidden from view, the ambush lay in wait. Guns were raised as the first of the riders passed an already staked out spot. The wagon inched closer. Too soon and the targets would be out of range, too late and they would be in too much over. Breathing slowed as they looked down the gun barrels.

 

Another step; another and another.

 

The hoof of the first horse touched the exact spot. What happened next was over in seconds. The first shots were fired, the two riders and the wagon driver went down. The riders were dead, the driver clipped. The force of the blow sent him backwards, off the driver’s platform and down onto the dust on the other side of the wagon. The man at the back managed to fire a warning shot in their direction before he too took a bullet to the forehead. As predicted, there was another man in the back of the wagon. He aimed a huge shotgun at the area where the natives were crouched. One of the rocks just above the leader’s head exploded in the hail of fire. The pop-crack of pistol fire reverberated around the trail as yet more shots were exchanged. There were a few shouts from the two remaining people by the wagon. They were now cowering behind it, reaching around and firing here and there.

 

It did not take long to work out what they were doing. Their last stand was over in less than forty seconds. Only when they lay dead on the ground, did the natives stand up and scuttle down to where the wagon waited for them. The oxen, without drivers, waited patiently, leaning down and seeing if the rocky ground held anything tasty to eat.

Not a word was spoken until they were sure their targets were all dead. Only then did they relax. “What did we get?”

 “Go and have a look, Falkus,” the leader barked back.

 He was a tall, dark haired fellow sporting a single braid that trailed down his back. Falkus, shorter but no less muscular, nodded and did as he was ordered without question, “Alright Ezekyle,” he muttered before trudging over to look inside the tarp.

Moments later, his whoops and cheers could be heard, piquing the interest of all those who were with him. “We won big on this one,” he beamed.

Ezekyle kicked over the body he had been about to examine and headed on over to where Falkus had his head stuck in the back of the wagon, “What is it?” he asked.

Before he could look for himself, Falkus barked out, “Medical supplies by the look of it. Medicine and, there’s some food back here as well,” he added.

 A small, tight lipped smile crept onto Ezekyle’s face. “They’ll be handy,” he nodded.

“There’s a lot here too,” Falkus said as he climbed into the back of the wagon, “Looks like they were taking this somewhere important, maybe setting up another outpost or something,” he added.

Ezekyle nodded, “They’re always after fixing up more outposts,” he said with a shake of his head, “Like we don’t exist.” It was the old argument, the one that had brought most of them down this road in the first place. There were a few confirming nods and grunts but no words were said on the matter this time.

“What’re we going to do with it all?” Falkus asked as he climbed out of the wagon once more.

Ezekyle looked to the stocky man at the front of the wagon. “Luc?” he asked.

“Take it to the Needles,” he said simply. “They’re healers, independent and we owe them a debt.” Ezekyle nodded, that was what he would have done too.

“Three days from here,” Falkus said. “Then we had better get moving,” said Lheor. Up until now, the burly warrior had been unusually quiet. He was usually the first one to fight and the last one to stop. He had the scars to prove it and he was a valuable asset in any fight. His gruff, scarred demeanour was enough to curdle milk; the whites of his eyes appeared to glow out of his ebony face. The bronzed teeth merely added to the grim visage and it was no secret that he was brought along on raids for the fear his appearance granted. He had already brought their horses down from where they had been left and was about to mount up.

“What about the bodies?” Telemachon asked. The slender warrior was no less deadly for his small size. His face was far too handsome to be out here in the wilds and he looked as though he should be working in the larger town behind a desk; it was this mistake that got people killed. For all of his soft looks, he had a vicious streak running straight through him, a ruthless aspect that made him far more dangerous than he appeared.

“We can’t stop to bury them, let the vultures feast,” Aximand said. As if on que, a screech form the sky sounded and one of the black creatures landed not far away.

“Take their guns and ammo, money too, we need nothing else,” Ezekyle said. With that, he took the reins of his horse and mounted up. “Telemachon, you drive the wagon,” he said, catching the reins of the other horse with ease. The other warrior mounted the wagon and snapped on the harness. The oxen made no protest as they once more began walking forwards. It seemed as though the change in driver made no difference to them.

Guns, ammunition and a minute sum of money were tossed into the back of the wagon. The remaining members of the small gang mounted their horses. The animals that the dead had been riding were hitched to the back of the wagon and they began making their way to the Needles.

***

It was an uneventful three day journey across the planes to the Needles. The weather was as hot as it ever was; dry wind swept across the open land, scorching those who dared to travel through it. For Ezekyle and his gang of natives, it was a simple matter of sticking to well-known pathways and keeping hydrated. There was not much in the way of water supply out on the plane but this was not the first time they had rode this way, nor would it be the last.

The Needles was a peaceful community made mainly of those who rejected the ideas of the outsiders and wanted to be left alone. Over the years, it had become a haven for those who did not fit in anywhere else and expanded. The original residents had worked out how to scale the giant land formations and create a home on top. Those that joined them had expanded and joined several of the peaks together until multiple walkways connected the huge stacks. Huts and shelters had been fashioned into the sides of the rock and at night, it created a network of flickering, ghostly lights.

The leader of this odd community was an ancient, shrewd crone by the name of Moriana. She’d united the people under the banner of peace, so long as they were left to live their lives undisturbed. The aided those who needed it, those who were without ally but they were no fools. No favour went unpaid for and no debt was ever forgotten. That was something that Ezekyle kept in mind as he approached the ramp that lead up the stack to the main compound.

Of course, the wagon and oxen would remain on the ground. Not alone, never leave anything unguarded: that was a lesson they had learned long ago. Objects left unguarded did not stay around for very long. Ezekyle and Falkus had ascended the Needles on foot, it was a steep climb and there was no need to make the horses take such a journey. They were too large for the top of the Needles and Ezekyle was sure that Moriana would be less than impressed if they destroyed her home with a careless animal. It was no short walk up the stack, curling around the side but the two natives were hardly out of breath when they crested the rise.

Their approach had been watched; the prickling hairs on the back of Ezekyle’s neck had informed him that eyes, and likely weapons, were on them as they approached. He kept his hands away from the twin guns at his belt and his bandana pulled down around his neck. These were allies, not enemies and no harm was meant to pass here. Falkus had done the same. By the time they were standing at the top of the path, the crone had appeared to greet them. “And what brings the pair of you back up here so soon?” she asked.

“It is a pleasure to see you again too,” Ezekyle said, tapping his left collar bone three times in greeting.

The crone narrowed her dark eyes at him, the wind plucked at the black rags that passed as robes, her withered hand grasped the staff that was almost as bent and crooked as she was. “Ezekyle Abaddon, after what happened last time be glad you’ve not been shot yet,” she snapped. There was a trace of warmth beneath her caustic tone however and the large warrior relaxed a fraction.

“Now, is that any way to treat an old friend?” he asked, brushing the rim of his hat with his hand. Falkus stood beside him, a light grin on his face. The old woman huffed and waved a bony hand as if in dismissal.

“What do you both want, neither of you come here without wanting something,” she said.

“You wound me to the core,” Ezekyle said with a sad shake of his head. “This time, we have something for you instead.” That seemed to pique Moriana’s interest and she tilted her head to the right.

“Go on,” she said.

“I know last time I was here, a rather large ruckus was created, mistakes were made that led to regret.”

“You shot four people and drove half our food supply off the stack,” Moriana said flatly.

“As I said, mistakes were made.” He paused for a moment, “I’ve got a wagon full of medical supplies that need somewhere to be used. They’re yours.”

“That doesn’t make us even,” Moriana said. Falkus handed her one of the packs they’d acquired and she took a moment to look over it. She even went so far as to open the pack and see what was hidden inside. The look on her face said that it was good news. “But it goes a long way to make it so,” she said with a nod.

It seemed to do the trick, she waved a hand and a couple of her minions trotted over. She turned and spoke to them for a moment, giving Ezekyle the chance to look around. There were plenty of people moving around the Needle they were stood on. Both men and women tended fires, cured hides and undertook dozens of other tasks that were essential to keep the place running. He was about to turn back when his eyes were met by a pair of much darker ones. A shock of black hair was tied up in a neat bun. The dark eyes turned into a fierce scowl before the owner, a slender woman, darted off with a distinct huff.

The moment was broken and his attention demanded on what was going on in front of him. “Will you be staying?” Moriana asked. Slowly, he shook his head.

“We got business in the north,” he said. Falkus gave him a confused look but said nothing more on the subject.

“It’ll take time to unload the wagon,” Moriana said.

“I don’t need a wagon, keep it.” The crone bowed her head in thanks at that, “I got no other business to do here,” he said. He gave a hand gesture and Falkus turned too, “Until next time,” he said before heading back to the ramp which they had crested several moments before. Moriana watched them leave with a slight shake of her head. Soon, she too was busy again.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The ride over the planes was far from eventful. They rarely were. Ezekyle was of a mind to ensure the rest of his people were safe and that meant a four day journey to the other side of the island. The tribe could be in any one of six locations, they moved around depending on the time of year, where the food was and now, where the invaders were too. It had become more of a protection mechanism than anything else; if they kept on the move, they could not be attacked so easily.

The last time the little band had been home, Ezekyle’ sister had been a month away from giving birth. He would no doubt be an uncle by now. Several of the others had family there too and he owed it to his companions to go and see them. They did not check in often; their action against the outsiders was far more beneficial to their tribe than if they lived there permanently. There had been arguments and differences in opinion that had led Ezekyle to the course he was now on. His mother had been adamant that it was a bad idea and that his place was with his people.

He dismissed her from his thoughts for the time being, the old argument could wait. He would be as pleased as the others to see his family again; there was no doubt about that. The tribe, this time, were at the location along the sea to the north. Fishing was good this time of year and so the coast offered the best nutrition for them. The cool air of the sea was more than welcome as the travellers approached their home. Outriders had already alerted the warriors of their approach and a small gathering had appeared to welcome them back.

There were no cheers, but the smiling faces of those they knew and loved was enough. Ezekyle could hear the voices of his companions as they spotted their families and dismounted. He scanned the crowd until his gaze fell on the dark eyes of his younger sister. She was dressed in the traditional dark brown dress as she should be, her black hair bound in a braid down her back, not too dissimilar to his. Dismounting, Ezekyle led the horse over to where she was stood. In her arms was a tiny, sleeping child. A shock of downy black hair covered its head and it shared the same dusky skin tone as his sister. He held off embracing her on a count of the child.

“And who is this?” he asked as he looked down at the baby.

“This is Maya,” she said. Ezekyle smiled briefly before looking up from his niece. “Mother is waiting for you,” she said. Her tone brokered no argument and so he followed her away from the small gathering of people. The scent of wood smoke filled the air as they walked through the encampment, by the look of it; they’d been there for no more than a handful of days.

“How have you been?” he asked as they picked their way through the camp.

“It’s been busy Ezekyle,” she said. He knew by her tone that something was amiss. “Hard work,” she said.

“What’s happened?” he asked. They approached a cluster of tents and Ezekyle tied his horse to a post before following his sister into one of the tents. Inside was exactly as he had remembered it. He had grown up in this tent. The low cushions, the short table and the immaculate rush floor mats, even the smell was the same. Cooking food and cha just reminded him of happy days spent helping with the chores and playing with old friends.

His mother, short, plump and with more grey hair than black, shuffled out from one of the partitioned areas, a wide smile on her shrewd face. “Now it’s not often both my children step through my door on the same day,” she said, her voice as strong as always. “Sit, I’ve a pot of cha on the go.”

Both of them did as they were told, as though they were little children once more.

The feeling around the table was comfortable. Ezekyle’s mother brought them both cha before settling down opposite them. Maya had been placed carefully in a nearby cot and was sleeping soundly, not likely to awaken for a few hours yet. For a while, none of them spoke. Ezekyle wrapped huge hands around the mug; hands scarred stained with mud. Too late, he realised he should have cleaned them before entering the hut. “Look at you, bringing in the muck of the road. It’s bad luck and you know it!” his mother scolded. He was tempted to tell her how he was not a child anymore, how he was a man and did not need her prattling; how her beliefs were stupid and nonsense. He chose to bite his tongue for once however and simply rose to wash the grime from his hands instead.

He returned moments later, hands clean and dry. Sitting beside his sister again, a light frown puckered his brow, “Elizabeth, Where is Jeremiah?” he asked.  His sister’s eyes dropped to the floor and his mother looked away, “What?” he asked after a moment. It seemed than no answer was going to be forth coming however so he pressed his lips together and let out a soft sigh. “I can’t read minds, I am no warlock.”

“He was killed last month,” Elizabeth said.

The frown on his face deepened, “What happened?” he asked. His hands had curled into fists already, anticipating what was to come. Elizabeth sucked in a breath.

“It’s not what you think,” she said, “It was a hunting accident, the boar… it turned and…” her words trailed off, she didn’t need to say anything else. Slowly, he nodded and accepted her word as truth. His fists relaxed and he forced himself to take a drink of his mother’s cha. It was as warm and earthy as he remembered it. He then placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“We need you here,” his mother said. “More than ever, we need you here.” He turned his dark eyes to her and waited for her to continue. He could feel the trepidation emanating from his sister at his side; he knew what was coming. “Maya needs you. We have no one but ourselves to provide for us. With you here, we’ll be able to contribute to the tribe far more than we do now. Why don’t you come home, find a woman here, settle and be happy as I have been, as I was with your father,” she said. He had heard all her pleas and thoughts before, it changed nothing. “All you need is the love of a decent woman and a task to occupy your mind, not running off around the plains fighting the inevitable. You need-“

“Enough,” he said. His voice was lower than he had been before and he refrained from slamming his palm on the table for the sake of the sleeping babe. “I’ve brought medicine with me for the use of the tribe, thanks to what we ae doing, you are free to roam these planes unhindered. What I do keeps them the other side of the mountains. What would happen if they were allowed here unchecked?” he asked. Despite trying to keep his temper in check, his voice increased in volume. His sister’s hand on his arm reminded him that now was not the time for shouting. He pressed his lips into a thin line, preventing more words from spilling from his lips.

“But your place is here,” his mother said, “Your people are here and we need you.”

“I am not going to go through this again,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I came here to see how Elizabeth and the baby were, to make sure you were alright, not for a lecture. Don’t make me leave sooner than I have to.”

“But you don’t have to leave at all!” she said.

He refused to respond to her then, instead drank the cha and turned his thoughts inward. Her words always hurt more than he let on. He knew what he was doing was the right thing, but that did not make it easy. He recalled his father saying to him when he was a lad that often, the right thing to do was often the most difficult. Of course, he had been lecturing him on lying but he was sure the message still applied here too. He drained the last of the cha “We’ve been over this already, we will be here a couple of days, enough time to mend a few things, pitch in where we can before we ride out again. I will not abandon my task, you know that.”

“Not even for your niece?” his mother asked, looking at him over the rim of her cup.

“No, what sort of uncle would I be if I allowed these Outsiders to destroy everything we know and hold dear? She should not have to deal with that worry,” he replied. He placed the cup down on the table and forced aside a yawn. He did not miss the sad smile on his mother’s face but there was little he could do about that. Their convictions were different and there was nothing that would change it.

“Perhaps some time here will change your mind,” his mother said. Ezekyle could hear his sister roll her eyes at that and she finally spoke up.

“Ezekyle’s probably tired, leave him be.”

The light had begun to fade and he realised how true his sister’s words were. He nodded, “I would like some sleep,” he said. It had been a while since he’s slept in a true bed rather than bunked down on a blanket that stank of horse. He was hungry too but the need for rest seemed to outweigh the need for food. It was Elizabeth who got to her feet.

“Come on brother, there’s space for you to sleep back here,” she said. He gave her a grateful smile and followed her to the familiar space he had slept in while a child. “Familiar?” she asked.

He nodded, a small smile touching his lips. Her hand brushed his, he seized a hold of it and gave it a squeeze. He wanted to say how saddened he was by her husband’s death, how he wished he had been here to comfort her and do something about it. Words seemed to fail however, whatever he thought sounded stupid in his head. Instead, he drew her into a light, slightly stiff hug. Physical contact was not something he revelled in all that much. Still, her arms patted his back. “I’m glad to see you,” she said softly.

“At least someone is,” he replied before letting her go.

“Don’t be an arse,” she said. He gave a small shrug.

“Am I ever anything else?” She slapped his arm and the both laughed.

“Get some sleep, I’m sure there’s going to be a list of things for you to do in the morning,” Elizabeth said, gesturing to the blankets. He nodded and knelt down on the floor.

“See you in the morning,” he managed to mutter. Elizabeth nodded before turning away and flipping the flap shut behind her.

***

The next three days were spent exactly as he had predicted; toiling under the hot sun at chores that would make the lives of their families easier. Helping with the hunt, fixing broken items and doing what needed to be done. Over the three days, Ezekyle’s mother’s insistence that he stay intensified. She even tried to find some of the young women of the tribe and get them to beg him to stay. All their supplications failed and at the end it did quite the opposite of what they wanted.

After the third day, he gathered his companions together once again and expressed that they needed to go. He never pressured any of them to join him, if they wished to stay, they could and there would be no hard feelings. All of them opted to remain with him this time and one the same horses they had rode in on, they rode out into the morning sun. Instead of turning his small band of followers towards the planes however, he led them towards the mountains. The journey was not far and he had something in mind that would let the Outsiders know the frustrations they were all feeling at their lingering presence on the island.


End file.
